


“Thomas, meet Newt.  He’s in charge here when I’m not around.”

by comebacknow, sam_carter, Tattered_Dreams



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Anal, Blowjobs, Bondage, Bottom Thomas, Choking, Collaborative Work, Control, D/s, Dom - Freeform, Dom!Newt, Fingering, Hair Pulling, I'll tag this better later, Implied Masturbation, Implied Voyeurism, Leather, Light BDSM, M/M, Nails, Neck Kissing, Porn Without Plot, Praise, Rough Sex, Scratching, Shower Sex, Top Newt, Wall - Freeform, also there's a meeting in the next room from them wHOOPS, and thomas is so good to him, continuation of a different fic, essentially, floor, happy monday, hella smut, idk how to tag things i'm still yelling, jerking off, like hella, neck biting, newt is so proud of thomas, newtmas has a Time basically, public, shower, the walk turns into something entirely else, thomas goes for a walk to get rid of the ghost of newt's lingering touches, whaaaaat did we do, whoops how did this happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 11:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13739976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebacknow/pseuds/comebacknow, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam_carter/pseuds/sam_carter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tattered_Dreams/pseuds/Tattered_Dreams
Summary: Thomas goes on a walk. It does not end as he expected.





	“Thomas, meet Newt.  He’s in charge here when I’m not around.”

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fingerprints](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13718496) by [Tattered_Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tattered_Dreams/pseuds/Tattered_Dreams). 



> “Thomas, meet Newt. He’s in charge here when I’m not around.”  
> Or, Thomas’ Walk Turns Out Differently Than Planned. 
> 
>  
> 
> * Written collaboratively with both @seaselkie & @thomasnewts on tumblr. I don’t know what happened. I took the liberty of bridging some gaps. Hope you guys love what I did with it lol
> 
> ** For context, please read this drabble on light Newtmas touching: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13718496 (2,226 words)

Thomas takes a slow, shaking breath in.

Once. 

Twice.

He has to move. He has to move now.

A dry swallow. 

With shaking limbs he extends a leg, braces himself on it, and lifts himself up on a mess of tingling nerves.  He exhales another breath.  He needs to move now.  

The sunlight hits him hard as he exits the Council Hall.  One leg after another he moves himself closer to the Homestead across the Glade.  He needs to be alone.  He needs to calm down. He needs to stop thinking of the ghost of Newt’s fingers on his neck, on his back, his waist.  

Thomas needs a lot of things.

He pauses jerkily in his movements, staring at the Homestead ahead of him. What if Newt is in there? There is no way he could face the boy now, not after that.   
   
The memory of Newt’s low murmur flashes into Thomas’ mind.  

“Alright there, Tommy?”

No. He can not face that boy yet.  

Thomas’ eyes snag on the back wall of the Homestead, connecting it to the Shower Block.  Yes, that is what he needs.  He needs cold water on him, icing the heated blood in his veins.  

On still shaking legs, he veers toward the back corner of the Glade and ducks under the low cut of the Shower Block doorway, ignoring the friction on himself.  He desperately needs to get out of these pants.

With a startled jolt, he pauses.  His ears perk at the sound of water hitting the grass and straw floor below.  Before he can stop himself he turns toward the sound, heart stammering at the sight.

Ahead of him, with one hand braced on the wall, Newt stands, head ducked under the shower head, water falling in rivulets down his muscled back.  With shoulders hunched, his other arm moves in stride in front of him, shielded by his body.  Before Thomas can stop himself, he chokes out a gasp, a breath.

In a flash, Newt’s head turns to look over his shoulder. “Shit, Tommy!” The boy’s hand freezes in its movements, his brown eyes catching on the floor to his side, stilling, cheeks flushing a brighter red than they were.

Thomas’ skin buzzes, overheated.  His clothes scratch at him.  He shatters.

Thomas blinks once at the boy’s profile under the water, and before he could consciously make the decision, he is moving forward.

 

In three quick strides, Thomas is under the hot water, letting it soak through his clothing, his shoes.  He barely feels it.  He clasps a hand onto Newt’s shoulder, spinning him, knocking the boy’s hand out of the way and pushing him back against the straw wall.  “Payback,” he breathes out, eyes burning into Newt’s.  “Keep quiet.”

Thomas finally gives into the weakened muscles from earlier, letting his knees buckle below him as he drops, taking Newt into his mouth, tasting him.

A groan escapes Newt’s mouth somewhere above him as Thomas feels the boy’s fingers grip into his hair, hips moving forward into him.  

After what seems like a flash of a second, the boy’s hand is at Thomas’ collar and is yanking him upright again onto ever-weakening legs.  Thomas drags his eyes up to meet Newt’s quickly before Newt is spinning him and pushing him back into the wall now, pressing up against him, mouth crashing onto his. Tongue warm against his, teeth scraping, breath in quick, short bursts.

Tongue.

Teeth.

Breath.

A pattern.

Thomas groans under the contact, arching his body as Newt’s hands furiously trail down his sides, his fingers pressing into his hips. Thomas feels Newt’s mouth tear from his and in one choked gasp, Thomas is spun round and pressed forward against the wall, fingers digging harder into his hips.

He feels one of Newt’s hands sliding up his back over the soaked shirt now plastered to his back.  The boy’s fingers grip the collar of it tugging a bit as his lips make contact with the side of Thomas’ neck.

Thomas’ head quirks to the side, giving Newt better access.  The neckline of his shirt presses harder into his throat and he lets a quick shudder of a moan escape.  Newt stills behind him, lips paused on his neck.  Thomas’ breaths come shallow, short.  One after another in the stillness of their bodies.  He can feel Newt’s lips quirk up into a smile against his neck, where the shirt presses just a bit more into him, the boy’s fingers curling into a tighter grip of the material at his back.

“That’s a new development,” Newt murmurs into his skin.

Newt’s hand uncurls from the material and the neckline gives way from his throat, allowing Thomas another breath.  He’s about to object, but is stopped as Newt’s hand shoots back down to his waist, snaking beneath the material and lifting the drenched shirt up and off of him.

Thomas’ hands drop back down to leaning against the shower block walls, the only thing keeping him from collapsing forward as Newt’s body presses against his back - skin on skin, nerves on nerves, fire on fire.

Newt’s hand snakes up his waist, around his side, up between shoulder blades until it’s finally softly around Thomas’ neck, fingers trailing against his Adam’s apple and down to the hollow of his throat.  Thomas feels the slight pressure as Newt whispers into his ear, “don’t worry, Tommy.  I know what you like.”

The boy’s hand slowly tightens around his throat as he drags his lips to the back of his neck, breath hot against his already steaming skin, and Thomas falls into complete bliss as Newt’s other hand slides across his waist and his grip tightens at his hip, fingers digging into him.

“Don’t move, don’t breathe, keep quiet...” Newt’s commands come in breaths against his skin, deep accented murmurs, and Thomas is shaking, dry swallow after gasped breath.

He turns his head to look over his shoulder and his eyes meet Newt’s for a brief second.  The heat in the boy’s eyes is enough to completely undo him, and the smallest of whimpers escapes.

A vice-like grip tightens on his hip as Newt’s eyes flash a hint of fire.  “What’d I just say, Tommy?”

Thomas tries hard to keep quiet, but his throat continues to betray him as he faces forward again, eyes fluttering closed.

Newt lets a soft growl loose at Thomas’ ear before his hand moves up from his throat to cover Thomas’ nose and mouth. “I said,” the boy purrs, “don’t. Make. A bloody. Sound.”

Thomas’ eyes snap open, nodding quickly, using every ounce of his will power to keep quiet, trying not to scream - beg - for more. 

A quick nip at his ear and Thomas is practically melting, elbows buckling just a bit where he leans on the wall.  Newt’s teeth trail down to his neck, issuing another, harder bite, punctuated by a deep kiss.  Thomas swallows, heart pounding at the feel of Newt’s tongue against his skin.  He tilts his head back, silently begging for Newt’s hand to find its place around his arched neck again.

Newt smiles against his skin before lifting his head to murmur in Thomas’ ear again.  “What is it you’re asking for, Tommy?”

Thomas’ voice comes out wrecked, shattered, shambled, simple: “please.”

“No,” Newt continues quietly, in his ear.  His voice takes on an aggressive tone as he continues, “with your body, tell me.”

Thomas arches back into Newt in a flash, bringing his hand up to Newt’s to drag it down onto his neck, but to no avail.  With both hands, Newt swiftly grabs Thomas’ own and slams them against the wall ahead of them, body pressing into Thomas’ back.  “Not,” he growls into his ear, “with,” a pause, “your hands.”  He punctuates this with a harder bite to Thomas’ neck, making the boy drop his head back onto Newt’s shoulder behind him.

Thomas uses whatever strength he has left to lift his head and then drops it forward, choking a small sob out.  In a voice barely audible over the running water, he breathes, “how do I show you, then?”

Newt begins to slowly trail his hands back down from where they were on Thomas’ own.

Down his arms.

Down his ribs.

To his waist.

With a hard grip, Newt pulls Thomas’ waist back into him, erasing any inkling of space between them, and it takes everything in Thomas not to yelp at the feeling of Newt hard against him.

“I said,” he repeats slowly, too slowly, “show me.”

Thomas expels a shaking breath, focused on keeping his hands braced on the wall ahead of him, as Newt continues his commands, pressing further against him. “Show me what you want.”  Thomas flutters his eyes closed as Newt’s tongue presses into the crease between Thomas’ neck and shoulders, punctuated with a quick bite.  “Prove to me you need it.”

Thomas’ brows come together as he fights the pleas trying to escape him, to burst forward from him.  His hands curl into fists against the wall.

Newt’s murmured accent sneaks back into his ear on hot breath, “you’re being so good, Tommy. So quiet.”

Thomas swears his heart is going to hammer out of his chest any minute.

“Show me what you need,” Newt whispers even lower, breath against his skin.

Thomas tilts his head back to the sky, silently pleading for something - anything - to happen.  Newt’s fingers tighten at his waist.

Thomas arches back into Newt, his body moving on its own at this point.

Newt laughs softly in Thomas’ ear, and it undoes the boy.  “I don’t know, Tommy.  It doesn’t seem like you want this very much.”

Thomas silently begs to differ. 

Another swallow.

Another breath.

Fists straining against the wall.

Jaw muscles feathering as he works to keep his mouth shut tightly, keep any sounds from escaping.

“Be good for me,” Newt whispers so quietly into his ear, hands slowly snaking into the back of Thomas’ pants, digging his nails into Thomas’ skin. “Stay quiet.” 

Thomas nearly yelps when Newt pulls his hand away to rip his pants down to his thighs, letting the water hit skin directly now.

Thomas’ lips form the word, even if no noise follows. 

Please.

Please.

Please.

Newt slowly, slowly trails fingers up the sides of Thomas’ thighs, over his hips, and slowly back down the lines of muscles in front, angling downward.  Just his fingertips, lightly.

Too lightly.

Thomas’ breath comes in short, silent gasps, desperately fighting the screams building up inside of him, ready to burst at the seams. 

Shallow. 

Shallow. 

Shallow.

His skin prickles beneath the touches, the traces.

Newt’s lips softly trail the back of Thomas’ neck, across his shoulder blades, murmuring against his skin.  “Tommy?” His voice comes lilted, innocent. “You still with me here?”

Thomas knows full well he has never been more present in any moment before this.  He chokes out a moan, nods quickly, angling his head back to meet Newt’s eyes over his shoulder.

Newt’s eyes are locked on his as his hand travels up across Thomas’ body, across his chest, over collarbones, the lines of his neck, his jaw, finally brushing against his lips.  
Thomas parts them under the pressure of Newt’s fingers and curls out his tongue, drawing Newt’s fingers into his mouth.  His cheeks hollow, he sucks in hard, his body jackknifes as the sensation drops straight through him.

Newt’s eyes widen for an instant, and then narrow hard on Thomas’, his other hand gripping Thomas’ waist hard, tight.  “Did I say you could do that?” he murmurs, pressing close, his fingers slowly retracting and tracing Thomas’ bottom lip.  “I didn’t give you permission to do that.”

Thomas can barely stop himself before the words come out.  “Then give me permission.”

The boy’s lips quirk upward, a flash of teeth, a playful danger burning in his eyes.  “Hold on, Tommy.  I’ve got something better for that tongue.”

Thomas lets Newt’s hands spin him forward, pants giving way and falling to his ankles. His eyes flutter closed, focused on not giving into the pressure building inside of him.  He feels Newt’s hands on his shoulders, adding just enough pressure to them.  His knees buckle instantly, he doesn’t try to stop it as he falls, landing hard on them.  
Thomas opens his eyes and tilts his head up, lips parted, and looks directly into Newt’s eyes, where the boy looks back down at him. For a moment, Thomas notices Newt’s control falter at the sight of him like this: on knees, lips parted, utterly undone, waiting for him. 

Thomas tries to form words, can barely hear himself, as his eyes snag on Newt, inches from his tongue, heavy with want.

“What’s that, Tommy? Are you saying something?” Newt tilts his head down a little to hear him.

Thomas can barely look away from the sight in front of him, but drags his eyes up Newt’s waist, chest, finally meeting his eyes.  “Now, Newt,” he begs. “Now. Please.”

In a shotgun of a sound, Newt’s hand slams into the shower faucet, the water cutting off.

Thomas is vaguely aware of Newt’s hand trailing up the back of his head, gripping his hair.  “Come here.”

Letting Newt yank him by the hair, Thomas is dragged forward a bit and thrown back on the wooden floor.  Newt swiftly rips the pants fully from his legs now and tosses them to the side.  Slowly, he buckles down onto one knee, then the other, eyes burrowing into Thomas’ own, never leaving as he straddles him.  
   
In a flash, Thomas’ wrists are trapped in Newt’s grasp, but he can barely breathe.  Fighting him off isn’t even a passing thought, and he just lets the boy take over.

The second Thomas settles down, Newt releases his wrists. He scrambles up from the ground onto his elbows, propping himself up to watch Newt closer. His breath inhales sharply as Newt brings two fingers up to Thomas’ lips, pushing lightly into his mouth. 

“Suck,” Newt commands. “You have my permission,” he adds impishly, an amused half-smile playing on his face. 

Thomas immediately allows the fingers in, running his tongue along the length of them. 

After a second, Newt pulls them out, adjusting himself farther back on Thomas’ legs. He nudges Thomas’ thigh open, and glances up at Thomas, noting the blown pupils and wet, parted lips. “You look so good for me right now,” he murmurs, gaze locked onto Thomas’ eyes, finally pushing one finger inside. “So beautiful,” he breathes out reverently. 

Thomas’ head drops back, falling in between his shoulder blades.

He feels Newt reach out and run his other hand experimentally down the expanse of neck, down his chest and finally reaching his cock. He tugs slowly once, Thomas letting out a broken moan, hips stuttering forward, pushing Newt’s slowly thrusting finger in deeper. Newt adds the second, pushing past the resistance and finding a rhythm between both hands. He scissors slowly, pleased at the way Thomas’ body opens up for him, thighs spreading farther as they try to pull Newt in deeper. Newt’s fingers press upward, dragging back torturously slow, finally finding the spot that makes Thomas keen and push farther onto Newt’s hand. 

“Please,” Thomas gasps out, grabbing Newt’s wrist to still the fingers inside him. Newt immediately moves his hand from Thomas’ cock to swat away the grip on his other wrist, making a sound of disapproval at the action. 

“Wait your turn,” he says lowly, a warning look in his eyes. He acquiesces, though, removing his fingers and shifting his body forward, bracing his hands on Thomas’ hipbones.

With a glance at his own cock, Newt lifts an eyebrow at Thomas. “Care to help?” he propositions, pushing up onto his knees, chin falling to his chest as he towers over Thomas.

Eagerly, Thomas clambers up, bracing himself on one hand while he uses the other to guide Newt into his mouth. He sucks lewdly, swallowing hard as he takes Newt’s full length, nose just brushing lower belly. Thomas bobs his head a few more times, before Newt pushes him off slowly, a wet pop and a string of saliva following his mouth. 

Newt’s breath catches, tilting Thomas’ chin up and swiping his finger to break the string. “So good for me,” Newt breathes. 

With a gentle push on his chest, Thomas falls back to the ground, chest rising and falling rapidly as Newt adjusts back, raising one of Thomas’ thighs to settle between. He lines himself up with Thomas, and with a long breath, a choked sob, a flash of color and a burst of nerves, Newt slides in. 

The thrusts are keen, controlled and purposeful; a deep, pulsing burn that’s coiling a knot in the pit of Thomas’ stomach and the world swirls into melted shapes and the far-off sounds of the other Gladers at work.

And then.

Twigs snap.

So close.

Too close.

Thomas is vaguely aware of the sounds on the other side of the Shower Block wall - in the Homestead.

Thomas freezes.  

A conflicting storm of sharp, desperate desire and a touch of wild horror.

A blurred voice echoes out. Minho. Just on the other side of the wall.

Newt stills above him, just for a second, buried deep.  A devious flash across those eyes Thomas is lost in. 

“See who gives us away first, then?” the boy smirks down at him, his voice low and dark.

Thomas knows instantly that it will be him.

Thomas throws his arm over his face, panting, grasping at newts arm and screwing his eyes shut. It’s too much, and it’s not enough, and he glances over at the wall, the rustling and the low voices carrying through the thin straw and wood into their space. His eyes widen and he looks up at Newt in a panic. He can hear the meeting growing more packed, people pouring in. 

Newt pays no mind, mildly meeting his gaze, his thrusts even and slow. 

Thomas opens his mouth to speak, but Newt just reaches up and presses his fingers in where his lips parted. His breath is caught short as Newt's two fingers push deeper inside, forcing him to breath through his nose, hard and fast. Newt doesn’t pause, even when he removes his hand from digging into Thomas’ waist, and drags it up his body to fit snugly against the base of his throat. He presses down, testing. Thomas moans lowly around his fingers. Newt stops thrusting for a moment, raising an eyebrow. 

“Do you like it when people watch you, Tommy?” he asks casually, pulling his fingers out from Thomas’ mouth and wrapping them around Thomas’ cock. 

Thomas groans loudly into the action, back arching filthily off the floor, pushing himself deeper onto Newt. 

Newt's lips part at the thrust, neck straining before he presses down on Thomas' waist, back in control. “It seems that way, just from your noise.” He snaps his hips out and then forward, causing Thomas to choke out a cry and grasp uselessly at the grass underneath him. “Maybe we should just call them out here to watch you.” 

Thomas shakes his head as much as he can, barely able to move underneath Newt's hand back to pressing into his throat. 

“Oh? Then do as I say,” he growls, leaning closer, thrusting in hard. “And don’t,” he thrusts in and jerks his hand up Thomas’ cock, “make,” Thomas pants and feels his insides building, ready to burst, “a sound.” Punctuating his command, Newt presses his hand down onto Thomas’ throat, hard.

Thomas gasps as Newt continues to press down, driving his hips forward again and again, this time to the torturous soundtrack of Minho conducting the follow-up meeting ten feet away, one thin wall separating them.

Thomas’ head is spinning as Newt continues, hands grasping for purchase at the straw beneath him.  His back arches again, his mouth falling open in silent scream.  His eyes screwed shut and snapping open again as Newt grinds into him over and over.  

Newt’s hand presses firmly over Thomas’ mouth.  “Not yet, Tommy.  Don’t give us away yet.”  The boy’s words come on tails of huffed breath, groans, as his hips continue pressing forward, his body moving seamlessly above Thomas.  “We’re only getting started.”

Thomas’ newly freed hand reaches up to yank Newt’s hand from his mouth before he lifts himself, the angle causing a completely new array of sensation low in his body, fireworks go off along his skin, nerves stuttering.  He crashes his mouth onto Newt’s, but only lasts an inkling of a second before Newt’s hand is on Thomas’ chest, slamming him back down onto the floor, pausing all movements.

Their eyes are frozen on each other’s and Thomas thinks he sees a hint of surprise in Newt’s before the heat takes back over.  “Who’s in charge here, Tommy?” he murmurs down at him.

“You, Newt,” Thomas breathes. “You.”

A quick lift of his lips, pulling them into a smirk, and Thomas is undone at the sight above him, sweat mixed with the beads of water still dripping from the boy’s chest, hair falling in short locks around him.

Thomas feels Newt’s hands grip tight, one holding Thomas’ wrists above his head, the other gripping tight into his waist as Newt braces himself on his knees, bucking his hips forward.  Thomas’s vision turns red at the feeling, and all thoughts are gone.

It’s now only this:

It’s Newt’s nails in his skin.

It’s Thomas’ chest going hollow with breathlessness.

It’s Newt’s breath coming out in quick bursts, quiet grunts sneaking out.

It's Thomas' neck straining with quiet sobs and pleas.

It’s Newt leaning forward onto Thomas, teeth meeting his neck.

It’s a deep and guttural, “Tommy,” muttered once, twice, three times against his throat.

It’s everything, everything, everything.

It’s the sudden stillness as a voice on the other side of the wall brings them back to the world.

“And can someone find Newt, dammit?” 

Alby. 

Thomas’ eyes flutter.

A shallow breath.

Newt’s rakish smile is like a blow to the gut and Thomas almost breaks beneath him.

“Looks like you’re not the only one who needs me,” he breathes down to Thomas, letting go of his wrists.  “Maybe I should go.”

He slowly, slowly, slowly brings himself out, lifting himself just a little away, sitting back on his knees.

Thomas’ head is shaking before he realizes it.  He voice comes out in shaking breaths as he pulls himself on elbows, “No, Newt. No. Don’t.”

The boy slowly uncurls himself in front of Thomas, straightening, standing above where Thomas is still on the grass and straw floor, shaking.  Newt looks down on him, smirking, a hint of those teeth that Thomas can still feel the ghost of against his neck.  Newt’s head tilts to the side.

Devious.

Tempting.

“Newt.”

Starving.

It’s all Thomas can breathe.

“Newt.”

There’s no way he is losing this.

In a sudden burst, Thomas pulls himself forward, springing up, arms reaching forward.  His hands instantly find the backs of Newt’s knees and he pulls forward, buckling them, watching as Newt crashes back down to his level, kneeling between Thomas’ sprawled legs.

Their eyes meet.

“Oh, Tommy,” Newt lets a soft chuckle out.  “You’ve just made a big mistake there, love.”

With one hand braced on Thomas’ throat, Newt leans forward, pushing Thomas back down to the floor. His other hand grips Thomas’ thigh and pushes forward and in an instant, Thomas feels Newt bring himself into him again.  

If it weren’t for the hand at his throat, Thomas swears he’d have screamed louder than the grievers.

He feels Newt crashing into him, over and over.  Thomas’ hands are everywhere: Newt’s waist, his shoulders, nails scratching down his chest, the red lines bursting bright trails.

Thomas’ breath comes in a burst as Newt pauses and removes the hand from his throat and reaches over to the side and grabs his discarded machete’s harness from earlier.

In a swift movement, he yanks the leather strap free from the harness.  In one hand, he grabs both of Thomas’ hands where they stilled on his chest, bringing them together, and winds the leather strap single-handedly around both of Thomas’ wrists.

Thomas jerks beneath them, eyes blown wide.  His nerves are frayed, tearing at the seams.  There’s too much; he’s a twist of sensation, but acutely aware of the voices in a rising hum so, so close - Fuck.

Newt gives one thrust forward and Thomas lets out a strangled choke, the moan sitting tight and thick in the back of his throat.  

“Stay quiet.”

Newt brings himself out and with one arm snaked around Thomas’ body, shifts him a foot to the left, closer to the wall, closer to the meeting.  Ignoring the shrinking space between them and the voices on the other side of the wall, Thomas watches as Newt reaches forward, his body stretching above Thomas’ eyes, muscles tight and corded, sweat glistening, heat rolling off of him.

Newt loops the other end of the leather strap around three of the Shower Block wall’s branches and tugs it tight.  Thomas’ arms strain, his body arching upward, letting Newt slide himself in, deeper, as he works on the leather.

The pressure on Thomas’ chest as his arms stretch above his head makes the pulse of his heart tight, bruising.  The brass buckle of the strap snaps down against Thomas’ bare skin, and it feels like fire is bursting from the contact.

Newt sinks down into position again, meeting Thomas’ eyes determinedly.  “I told you no hands, Tommy.  If you can’t behave on your own, then you’re just going to have to stay tied up.”

Newt stares down at him, a brow quirked just slightly in question.  Thomas takes in a shaking breath and slowly nods, eyes never leaving Newt’s.

“Is that a yes?” Newt asks in a low voice.

Thomas nods again, a stuttered movement.  “Yes,” he breathes out. “Yes.”

Newt’s thumb presses into the base of his throat, fingers tracing down the tight, aching cords of his neck, and Thomas can’t even feel the ground beneath him.  There’s a touch, filthy and deliberate at the broken seam of his mouth and Thomas opens under it without question.  

Newt tastes like spices and spring water, like an exotic fruit he can’t name and like wild berries. His tongue curls up, sucking, sliding.

There’s a pressure as Thomas bites down on his fingers, while lower, Newt presses further into him.

Once.

Twice.

Newt’s breath comes in short bursts above him, other hand braced on the straw floor next to Thomas, skin braced against skin, Thomas’ legs aching, knees pressing into Newt’s sides.

Soft, thick moans escape from the back of Newt’s throat and Thomas nearly caves at the sound of them, at the sight of Newt’s brows drawing upward, nearly into submission, before he seems to catch himself and works even harder into him, the determination firing back into the brown eyes and it takes everything in Thomas to not break the silence with a shattered cry of release.

He feels the broken phantom of his scream swallowed before it can escape.  Newt bites his tongue, thumb pressing down at the space where Thomas’ collarbones meet.  He thrusts hard forward.

It’s like electricity firing through his veins, like being struck by lightning, like watching the world disintegrate. Thomas is splintered, pulsing, his world zeroed down to atoms.  The world dissolves into white, all noise ceasing to exist with the last thing he hears: the soft, quiet groan of Newt murmuring his name.

“Fuck, Tommy.”


End file.
